


The Alphabet of Kylux

by SenkoWakimarin



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-18 02:01:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5893837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SenkoWakimarin/pseuds/SenkoWakimarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of shorts all starring various aspects of the Kylux relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A is for Allay

**Author's Note:**

> Allay (v): to put to rest; calm; quiet

Kylo Ren had a huge temper for a such a wire-y, spindling young man, and while this made most wary of him, Hux (from a position of safe superiority) found it obnoxious and (privately) amusing. It was inappropriate, even in the context of their typical mocking relationship, for him to laugh openly at the overly passionate displays, and sneer as he does, he must keep a tight grip on the urge to _giggle_ at these lashings out.

It’s laugh or scream. Because the choice is that and that only; the be amused or frustrated by the lack of control in a man he _knows_ has such potential.

Laugh or scream.

And he can’t do either, not in his position. Not openly, as Kylo puts on his gaudy displays.

But privately, just the two of them, oh, now that is different. In private he can laugh, he can lecture, he can _goad_ , and he does it all, delighted at the shock, the rosy-blooming rage on the boy’s face as Kylo ramps up for another fit. One that Hux can temper with his own unfettered emotion, dragging the younger man in and forcing all that heat and anger out into the open.

There’s something so supremely satisfying about the near boneless complacency that follows such a spat, something profoundly pleasing about being the one who so calms the fiery-tempered youth.


	2. B is for Basial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basial; of, like, or pertaining to kissing.

Kisses were weak things, little chips of warmth in an otherwise frigid existence. They were sweet when life was meant to be bitter, like honey added to wine; gentleness in a harsh world. Kisses were useful in nothing but addictive, a single one lighting the body up and making the heart hungry for more.

He hated them.

Hated the way Hux leaned in so confidently, kissed him so soundly after pinning him down. He hated the way Hux laughed against his frowning lips, nuzzling their foreheads together before kissing him a second time, gentler, barely there. He hated how his mouth opened in a little needy gasp, his body leaning forward as Hux started pulling away, effectively giving everything away in terms of his desire. And still Hux always asked, “Shall I stop?”

_No, no_.

“Are you sure?”

_Please._

Dragging the general back in and smashing their mouths together. His kisses were never like Hux’s, never gentle or sweet but always heated, burning with the same passion that otherwise went into lashings out with his saber.

Passion, he had to admit, was sometimes better than actually speaking.

And he likes the eager little noises Hux makes as he shoves Kylo back, bruised knuckles curling as he clutched Kylo’s shirt front. Kylo barely kisses properly, his version a mimicry of Hux’s motions that are just slightly too rough, just slightly too sharp; he lets the general take over again willingly enough because he is weak for these stolen moments of softness.


	3. C is for Congener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conger; something of the same kind or nature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains mature content.

They are an imperfect match, one would think. More than half the time they spend in each other’s company is spent in some form of confrontation or another; either earnestly bickering or wrestling in private struggles, half sex and half combat.

When they fought, really fought, it was in complete sincerity, neither capable of pulling their verbal punches or contain their venomous insults. When they fucked, it was raw and rough and every bit as much an outlet of frustration as fighting. They scratched and bit and tore each other open, leaving their quarters with hidden bruises and satisfying aches.

No kiss came without a bit, no gentle touch without punishment. They were messy and confusing and spiteful, undermining the relationship they were still working on building.

Yet, it endured. For all the mayhem and disorder that characterized so much of their time together, some chord in each matched perfectly the other. Despite their separate pride, despite their personalities, some power had seen fit for them to be built like for like, naturally resonating at the core of their warzone of a relationship.


	4. D is for Dol

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dol; a unit for measuring pain

There have been moments in their time together when Hux has felt that he will certainly die; struggles of personality or opinion that ended with each going at the other, snarling and hissing at one another. Kylo’s temper was eternally flared, and their personalities clashed just so to have them ever at one another’s throat. Even when they were at their most romantic, they were set to claw and pin.

But oh, it hurt now, pinned again but in a different way; gloved hands digging at Kylo’s shoulders; trying to drag him up, trying to assess the damage and see a way that it might be healed even as the planet crumbled beneath them.

It hurt so terribly to think that he’d refused to voice his feelings, that they had spent their last moments before this in typical, sneering disagreement. But that was how it always went with them. They bickered, or they fucked, or they did both. Only the easy things, never acknowledging the dread they could both feel, or the concern, or that bright, undefined thing that spread between them as they cleaved together.

“Be still,” he murmurs, lifting the smaller man. This is the softest his voice has ever been, he thinks, the gentlest it’s ever been between them. “Easy now, I have you.”

And yet it twists inside him, the way the other only stares at him through glassy, stunned eyes, breath laboring, face bleeding profusely. There is too much to say and not enough time, and that’s why he’s just holding on and rushing for the transport. Because there is nothing he can do now, nothing but run.

Run, and ache.


End file.
